I've been through a lot of shit in life just like the rest of us. Big shit, little tiny shits that felt like big shits in the moment and hurt just as bad. But in all of that mess we all always had something to hold onto.

I applied for a job a couple weeks ago, one I genuinely wanted, too. I thought this is the one for me and I was so eager to be and passionate about being, a part of this company. I called and called. I checked the online portal everyday to see if I got an interview. This was going to be my new start, it was going to be the beginning of the career I spent my life in, proudly. And then one day I finally got through to someone. It seemed like all was going great and she emphasized that just because I had ZERO experience in this career field, I had TONS in customer service and THAT was what was important. She said, "I can teach you all the things about working here but I can't teach customer service, some people just have it". And she was right. I've trained a lot of newbies in all my years and you usually know within the first week; a. absolutely, b. no way, or c. we'll get there, there's potential. She was so confident in me. And then right before she passed me to the next interview she said she had to go over a few policies. She said, and read this one closely... "We like to make sure our customers are our first priority and that they're always comfortable. With that being said.. We have a strict 'no visible tattoos, no facial piercings, and no colored hair' policy". She said I couldn't be who I am, because I'll risk making her customers uncomfortable.

I need to hide me. I need to put me in a tiny little box in the corner where nobody will ever see me, and just be what they needed me to be. small.

We have music, singing, dancing, we have painting, coloring as kids, movies, we have so. much. shit. But nothing strikes a nerve like good old tattoos and piercings. Why is that? What about MY art is different than YOUR art? When your favorite actor fucks up or does something you don't like, you're like damn.. "but he's still a good actor and I'm not going to stop watching his shit". So how come when you see my beautiful mess I put on my skin, when you see my story, my fuck ups, my proudest moments, my ever-growing confidence, my favorite pieces of me, how come when you see me, I'm no longer good enough to be your doctor? Or to be your lawyer, or to help protect you or serve your country? What about the pieces of me on my body makes you so uncomfortable? How do you know so easily that I'm so unqualified because my hair is pink? Why can't I love pink like you love the blues that fill your closet, your car, your hat collection, or your favorite pair of shoes? If I spent every dime I had and 15 years in medical school, you'd really stop believing in me over the ink on my skin? I will no longer be enough for you?

Let me ask you something.. If you started to die in a room full of people and I was the only one who knew how to save you.. But I had my dead mothers favorite flower on my neck, the solar system that reminds me that there's so much more to the world than just what we see in front of us, on my fingers, if I had my favorite character from my favorite movie that always cheers me up and makes me smile at the end of a long day, on my wrist, if I had the cute little nose ring on my big nose that I used to be so insecure about before I got that ring, if I had the purple hair my daughter begged me to get because it's her favorite color and it makes her so happy every day that it's all she talks about, if I had all of those things and I chose not to hide them for you while I saved you, would you let me save your life? Or would you lay there on the cold hard ground with your children watching you give your last breath? Would you be grateful they didn't have to watch that degenerate save your life? Would they be grateful they never got to have their father walk them down the aisle? Would your daughter be honored to know her mother wont be in the delivery room to help guide her through the birth of your first grandchild? Would your son be happy nobody ever taught him how to fish, or to simply be a man? But fuck, at least you got to choke on your comfort, that you so desperately needed and could never get from me. Why is that?

Some say your job is your second home. It's where I'll spend at least 40 hours a week and what I'll bring home mentally every single day. The people I serve never leave my mind, they never just "brush off my shoulder" like they teach you in your training to do. You don't ever forget how they teach you, treat you, the things they said to you good and bad, you never leave it all at the door no matter how hard you try. I'll spend my whole life focused on my job, I'll put all my effort, sweat, and tears into my job. I go home at the end of the work day, talk about my regulars at the dinner table, talk about the life I saved or the one I couldn't, and how badly it kills me. I'll lie awake at night wondering what more I could do. And I'll go back the next day and do it all over again. Over and over and over. This is my second home. But it'll never be yours... And yet, I'm the one who has to cover up all the pieces of me to make sure that you're comfortable? If you didn't have your art, if you had to hide your favorite movie from everyone and never show it to anyone, if nobody ever wanted to hear your favorite song, if nobody would look at the picture your son drew or the dance your daughter made, if nobody would ever try your mothers cooking, how would everyone feel? This is my art. You don't have to love it, hell, you don't even have to fucking like it. But you will still respect who I am with it because without it.. I wouldn't be.

Why should I have to change who I am, for you to love me? I am not small. I am mighty. I am who I want to be. And I love me, every piece of me. And I worked too fucking hard at that to let you take away pieces of me to make yourself fucking comfortable. So fuck your policy on self-expression.